


The Game

by MagpieinRoseThorns



Series: The Everlasting Chronicles [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Chess Metaphors, Cosmic games, Death is a child, Fantasy, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Time is a He
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23442703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieinRoseThorns/pseuds/MagpieinRoseThorns
Summary: A short story of the ongoing games played by Time and Death with Fate and Dream as a witness.
Series: The Everlasting Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686463
Kudos: 1





	The Game

**“With endless time, nothing is special. With no loss or sacrifice, we can't appreciate what we have.”**  
**– Mitch Albom, The Time Keeper**

They walked slowly, making their way to their destination without hurry but not without care. The two immortals stopped at the entrance of the small room, door already left open for them as they bow in silent greeting to the room's other two occupants. Another purposeful step forward and the clock on the wall struck 12 o'clock before it's ticking ceased altogether.

Time was an old man with a long spider-silk beard and parchment skin that stretched macabrely over the thin and bony frame of his face, pulling it tight over hollows of missing muscle. His sinewy hands crackled like a fire when he would move them, clutching his time key between knobby fingers in a viper grip as another hand limply draped in the crook of his companion's arm for assistance across the uneven cracks of old hardwood. Dark, deeply set eyes peered out between long strands of white hair to gaze upon the others in the room, taking every detail in as he let out a slow, dusty breath.

His hand was removed from the others arm carefully and held between the slender fingers of one of Dream's delicate hands. She brushed some rainbow mottled hair from her pixie-like face and pulled an old, moth-eaten armchair slightly closer before allowing the other to use her hand to support his balance as he sat with a creak. Two-tone eyes were thrown across the room as Dream searched the shadows for Fate.

She found him sitting by the wall where Death had left him when they had arrived; staring with his fogged and unseeing eyes gazing off towards a window. His black cloak had been drawn close to his cadaverous frame in the chill of the old room, slowly warmed by a wood fire, and his hood was pulled slightly further back than normal. Almost as if he wished to get a better view of the game that he himself could not see even as he leaned back almost leisurely against the cracked and chipping wall with is sun-faded floral wallpaper.

She placed a small hand upon his shoulder and he turned towards her ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled and his fingers traced over the black page of an old leather book, “Dream, nice of you to join us. Despair is..?”

“Home, wallowing. She didn't want to watch if they began fighting,” Dream explained, reaching into the oversized, patchwork satchel at her side, removing a wooden box painted white.

Fate 'humph'ed in what might have been a laugh as his fingers danced across the unseen words on the page. “They are always fighting. It's what they do. I'm surprised it took her this long to realize,” he chuckled slightly, “Well, I would be.” He reached into a fold between two layers of his cloak, holding out a similar black box for the other to take.

Silver moonlight tried to sneak its way through heavy curtains in order to caress the ethereal and otherworldly forms that had gathered. Dream stepped forward with the boxes in hand, placing them upon the edge of the table between the two eternals.

Death, sitting atop the old oak table with her legs crossed, balanced her chin in the cradle of her fingers as her elbows balanced on her knees, an impish smile painted on her small lips. She occupied herself as the Dream greeted Fate, picking at black paint haphazardly swiped across perfect little oval nails, nodding in greeting when she came to the edge of her makeshift perch.

She placed a hand on the board, fingertips resting delicately on the surface. Death mirrored her actions, raising his hand to the wood before lying it flush. Shadows and dust seeped from their fingers and settling into the grain of the wood forming the oversized chessboard between them.

Meanwhile, Dream's delicate fingers plucked out little chess pieces from each of the boxes, placing them within their assigned square as it formed before returning to the corner in which Fate rested. A little book, the record of all of their games in hand along with a quill.

She sat, opened the book, and prepared the quill before looking up to the two competitors, nodding once, a silent signal that she was ready.

The rules were clear. Once a century Time would sit across from Death and battle for the lives of humanity; and if he won, Death would never take another life again. “She will win,” Fate said simply, quiet enough that only Dream could hear. “She always does.”

She turned her head to the cloaked figure, keeping the game in her peripheral simultaneously, a questioning look furrowing her brow. “Then why do you come?”

Fate's thin grayscale face twisted into a smile, “I am simply curious as to how.” He didn't speak of how much meaning was actually behind the game. How each and every move that Death's little hand made created a ripple throughout the strings of Fate.

Death would always win. She had to. There could not be a world without Death. But to the small child that sat upon the table, this was simply a game. A fun little game with a relative that she rarely saw. A chance to show off in front of her caretaker and friends.

Death didn't understand why Despair avoided her gaze or why Destruction praised her so highly. She didn't understand why she would sometimes feel upset for seemingly no reason, only to have Hope dry her tears.

She knew nothing of loss or sadness. As strange as it might seem; Death has very little understanding of what 'death' really is, and that was the way it had to be.

She made no attention to the time she took to make her move, knowing that while 'time' itself had stopped, at least for the moment, it was essentially meaningless. The only sound that passed through the room for many moments was the minute scrapping of a quill against parchment as Dream acted as a scribe, noting each move. Death caressed the round tip of the pearly white pawn with her thumb and finger, the king's pawn. After a moment she moved her hand away, formally ending her turn.

She watched Time carefully as his ancient-looking hands moved slowly over the board, making calculated moves. He had centuries of knowledge at his disposal. Death did not know any of the game's technical terms and didn't care for strategy and proper positions. She never read a book on chess or went out seeking knowledge. She was simply clever. She had to be.

When she had decided that too much silence had passed, she parted her lips, bringing in a breath of the cool stale air that circulated throughout the abandoned house that was their battleground.  “Imagine a world without me...” she said, head tilting towards Dream but not turning to her completely, “That shouldn't be hard for you. What do you see?”

Dream was reactant in her answer, hesitating, “Loss...”

A corner of Death's perfect lips tugged up into a smirk that seemed all too sinister for the child it belonged to. “So would you say that what I do is right? Just?”

When she didn't reply Death nodded, placing another pawn forward. “No, I wouldn't think so.  “But...” She looked to Time with his unwavering eyes, never leaving the board. “Necessary.”

From his shadowed corner, Fate chuckled, hands gliding swiftly across his book as it whispered things unknown to him and unseen by his eyes. Death only returned her eyes to the board.

He had already exposed his King, a fool's move but she decided to ignore that for the time being, instead deciding to draw out the game. Pawn after pawn was sacrificed as their minuscule armies merged upon the board. When she picked up the pace, Time began to falter in his decisions. One simple blunder leading to another.

A knight was captured, then another pawn. The bishop was next. His rook would be the next to go but she was slow in capturing it, wanting to relish the final moments of the game before it slipped away.

The small child picked up a marble pawn, admiring it for a moment before placing it in the next square. The clock began to tick once again, filling the emptiness of the room with its sound. She leaned forward, her angelic face twisted into something chillingly out of place as small rose-petal lips mouthed out two silent syllables:

Checkmate.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a collection of stories about a group of beings called the Everlasting. If you all enjoy it, I may post more as time goes on. Only Time will tell.


End file.
